


The Great Space Opera

by Elderberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Ambulon Lives, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Does not follow IDW Canon, Fluff and Smut, Humor, IDW/Prime smash-up, It's all Brainstorm's fault, Junk science, M/M, More parings may be added, Self-Indulgent, Space Adventure, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elderberry/pseuds/Elderberry
Summary: When Brainstorm's latest invention backfires, Team Prime winds up aboard the Lost Light. Shenanigans of course ensue while the LL crew try and help their new friends find their way back home.Or.Rodimus' worst nightmare has come to life in the form oftwoUltra Magnus' aboard the ship.Drift is pining, jealous, and then pining again.Megatron is conflicted.Arcee gets to enjoy the company of two lovely femmes.Ratchet is Ratchet... both of them.And Knock Out? Knock Out's having the time of his life.Welcome, toThe Great Space Opera





	1. Through The Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Hoooo boy. This may just be the most self-indulgent piece of crack ever written. And when I say self-indulgent I MEAN self-indulgent. 
> 
> Also, I never knew Brainstorm could be so fun to write. Seriously, I've had so much fun writing this first chapter I really hope it gives you all a laugh. ;)

“Well...” Brainstorm mutters, optics cycled wide as he turns to stare at Preceptor. “I think I may have miss-calibrated.”

Preceptor, for all his lack of emotion, is staring in his best approximation of surprise at a point on the lab floor which had, seconds ago, been empty.

He resets his vocalizer with a click, and swings his gaze back toward his partner. “I believe that may be an understatement.” He says finally, once again pinning his gaze back upon Brainstorm’s latest blunder. “I think you’d best call Rodimus.”

Brainstorm twitches, clenching and unclenching his hands in a manner Preceptor recognizes as barely contained excitement. He huffs out a long drawn out sigh, and rolls his optics up towards the ceiling. “Fine,” he says, “but I hope you can recognize just how _genius_ this entire thing is.”

If Preceptor were a different mech, he was sure he’d be holding his head in his hands at this point. As it is, he just continues to stare at the sure to be insanity piled up on the lab floor. “I’m sure it is Brainstorm, I’m sure it is.”

* * *

When Rodimus gets the call he’s about as bored as can be on the command deck, watching an equally boring conversation take place between Megatron and Ultra Magnus about the placement of rivets along the corridors of hab wing E.

He’s just about to start goading Drift, who’s standing to his left tapping away at a console, when a ping from Brainstorm lights up his internal comm. He accepts it gleefully, already feeling his engine kick up a notch in excitement. Brainstorm _never_ comm’s, unless something ridiculous is about to happen.

**:**Heeyyy Brainy!**:** He sing-songs, plastering on his best slag-eating grin despite the fact Brainstorm can’t see him. **:**What’s up?**:** There’s a moment of silence, then a spit of static before Brainstorm answers him.

**:**We uhh... we need you come down to the lab.**:** Silence again, then the faint sound of a voice that sounds a lot like Preceptor in the background. **:I** need you. **I** need you to come down to the lab.**:**

Rodimus feels his grin grow, a happy little ball of _oh fragging finally!_ Growing in his chest. **:**Be Riiigghhtt there buddy!**:** He all but squeals, launching himself up out of his chair so quickly it threatens to topple backwards.

It of course draws the attention of both Magnus and Megatron, who turn to stare at him. Ultra Magnus’ face goes from neutral to disapproving almost immediately, while Megatron raises an optic ridge in question.

“Something wrong, Captain?” The ex-warlord asks, pinning Rodimus with the tired _what is it now?_ Look he’s come to hate.

But even the combined power of Ultra Magnus and Megatron can’t keep the prickles of excitement radiating out from his spark, and Rodimus claps his hands together in an outward show of his excitement as he turns his grin on them.

“Brainstorm needs me down in the lab!”

It takes less than a split second, record time really, for Ultra Magnus’ face to shift from standard disapproval to one of down right horror.

“Rodimus,” Megatron sighs, taking a few steps forward to once again level him with ‘the look’. “Why does Brainstorm need _you_?”

It’s a good question, but Rodimus doesn't really care. Things have been soooo boring lately, and anything involving Brainstorm is sure to get his engine running full throttle.

“Dunno!” He cries happily, throwing his hands up in the air. “But it’s bound to be good.”

With that he folds himself down in his alt mode, guns his engine, and tares off through the command deck doors. Distantly, he’s aware of both Magnus and Megatron taking pursuit, Drift too, probably, but it’s whatever, because this day finally got interesting.

* * *

Rodimus skids to a halt outside Brainstorm and Preceptor's lab, folding back into root mode before he’s even done braking. Magnus is just rounding the corner behind him, but Rodimus gives him no mind. Instead he turns sharply and all but throws himself through the doors to the main science lab.

The result is less than graceful, more stumbling and nearly ending up face first on the steel floor, but he recovers quickly.

“I’m here!” He shouts, looking anxiously around the lab. “So what is it? Mutant mech-eating worms? A parasite that’s going to make everybody break out into song? What? What?”

He’s answered with an ‘ahem’ from somewhere off to the right, and he spins on his heels to locate whoever made the sound.

It’s Preceptor, standing with his arms folded across his chest, looking pointedly across the lab. Rodimus follows his gaze until it lands on Brainstorm, who’s hunched over what appears to be... a pile of limbs. He moves a few steps closer, aware of the sound of Ultra Magnus and Megatron finally making their way through the door.

The limbs are all different colors, and sizes, too, he realizes as he makes his way closer. And... is that a helm? He moves past Preceptor, across the floor until he’s standing behind Brainstorm.

“Uh, Brainy? Please tell me you didn’t incapacitate a bunch of the crew.” He realllllyy hopes that’s not what’s going on here. It sounds like a lot of paperwork, a bunch of pissed off mech’s, and a major helm-ache.

“What? Of course not.” Brainstorm scoffs, turning to give Rodimus his best ‘who me?’ Look.

“Then what? Because...” Rodimus’ train of thought is abruptly interrupted when he takes a closer look at the pile of passed out mech's before him. “Holy Primus above! Is that Ratchet? That had better not be Ratchet!”

“What had better not be Ratchet?” A voice that can only belong to Drift calls from behind him. Rodimus tenses instinctively, because if that is Ratchet things were going to get ugly quick. Before Rodimus has time to stall Drift is standing next to him, optics taking in the sight of the mech pile-up on the floor.

Drift studies the sight with narrowed optics before moving closer and crouching next to the arm of hopefully-not-Ratchet. He picks the hand up, turns it back and fourth and then purses his lips in thought.

“That’s not Ratchet,” he says finally, turning his head to look at Rodimus over his shoulder. “Sure looks like him on first glance, but there are some pretty subtle differences, see,” Drift points to not-Ratchet’s helm, where now that Rodimus is really looking, is shaped somewhat differently than the Ratchet’s they all know and love.

“Well...” Rodimus says after a moment, hand coming up to stroke at his chin, “who is he then?”

Both he and Drift turn their helms towards Brainstorm, who is now standing beside Preceptor.

“Well, um, you see...” He trails off, casting a look at Preceptor.

“Oh no,” the microscope says, raising a brow ridge at his partner. “This is all you.”

Brainstorm sighs, casting a look at Drift and Rodimus before turning to look at Magnus and Megatron who are standing with their arms crossed some feet back.

“It’s a pretty long story, actually -”

“Then you had best begin.” Brainstorm flinches at the menacing drawl Megatron directs at him, but his shoulders slump in defeat.

“Fine.” He mutters, drawing in a deep intake before beginning. “So as I’m sure you’re all aware, I am very interested in the workings of alternate universes.” He pauses, glancing around to give them each an excited look. “Sometime ago I began building prototypes of a device I’ve postulated will have the ability to reach into the time-space continuum and make real, tangible contact with universes that exist alongside our own.”

He pauses again, a classic Brainstorm smirk settling across his face-plate. “Being the genius that I am, of course the prototypes worked! The first few universes I looked into however, were woefully empty, just big black vacuums of negative space, _boring_ really. So I uh, began tinkering with the algorithm, hedging it closer and closer in frequency to our own. And that was, as the humans would say, a big fat bingo!” Brainstorms claps at that, bouncing a little on his pedes as his field ripples manically.

“The prototypes began finally bringing things back, rocks mostly, chunks of meteorites, and other typical space debris. It was thrilling, truly one of my greatest accomplishes to date!” He turns and gestures to one of the lab counters, where Rodimus can now see piles of rocks and shards of metal scattered about. “During one of my searches however,” Brainstorm continues, optics lighting up even more. “I came across a universe with a frequency so close to our own that it’s absolutely astonishing! I brought back the standard specimens, but then I began to think. A universes subsisting on a vibrational frequency so close to our own? Why the potential there is staggering! So I set the prototype with the coordinates for where Cybertron exists in this universe... I then set it to take a sample, a much larger sample than the ones I had previously been gathering, hoping to obtain a large enough specimen for comparison with one from our own planet.”

Brainstorm looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his frame at this point, and Rodimus feels a deep pit of dread settle in his tank. “Brainy... please, please, please tell me you didn’t bot-nap a bunch of mech’s from an alternate Cybertron?” Oh Primus please, Rodimus thinks, though the ever widening grin on Brainstorm’s face is doing a great job of dashing all of his hope.

“Bot-napped? Phsuttt – pushawww? Oh I can never get that right. But no! I didn’t bot-nap them! More like, errr... borrowed?”

Rodimus glances helplessly at Preceptor, who simply lifts his shoulders in an ‘I don’t know what to tell you’ kind of shrug.

Rodimus’ escalating train of panic is interrupted when Ultra Magnus stomps forward and shoots Brainstorm with the kind of look usually reserved for Rodimus himself. Or Whirl. Always Whirl.

“Send them back. **Now**!”

And oh, if that tone of voice wasn’t familiar enough to have some well conditioned part of Rodimus begin to tingle with fear. Poor Brainstorm was about to feel the full brunt of Ultra Magnus’ ire.

“Eh heh heh...” Brainstorm trails off, wisely backing up with his hands out in front of himself. “Weeellll you see... therein lies the problem.”

Rodimus had always wondered which event would finally cause Ultra Magnus to blow his proverbial gasket, and it seemed this right here, was it. That optic twitch he had going was _terrifying_.

Luckily though, Megatron decided it was time to step in, and with a few strides was close enough to lay one of his large hands on Magnus’ shoulder. That such a simple act, and on a mech who generally hated to be touched, was enough to visibly calm Magnus’, was something Rodimus was going to need to analyze later. Much later, and possibly with the help of a few pints of engex.

“Brainstorm,” Megatron finally spoke, and in tone so calm Rodimus’ processor began to scream _danger! Danger!_ “Please explain to us all why you are incapable of sending these... interlopers, back where they belong?”

“Uhhh... well it’s not that I can’t so much as it’s -”

“He’s out of fuel.” Preceptor interjects, staring passively at Megatron. “He’s out of Dialthieum crystals.”

There’s a collective silence during which Megaton's face tightens and Ultra Magnus’ optics blow wide. Rodimus blinks and scratches at the back of his helm. “Sooo? You just need some more di- di-whatsits? That can’t be to hard, right?”

Preceptor snorts and Megatron brings a hand up to scrub tiredly at his face.

“Wrong.” He says, and the look he shoots at Brainstorm is enough to make Rodimus’ plating crawl. “Dialthiem crystals are _extremely_ rare, and not to mention _highly illegal_.”

_Ohhhh..._ Rodimus thinks. _Oh slag_. He glances discreetly at Ultra Magnus and yep, there’s that gasket blowing look again. _Well Brainy, it was nice knowing ‘ya._

Rodimus takes the chance to look back over at Brainstorm’s mess where Drift is once again crouched down examining various limbs and helms. He catches Rodimus’ look and frowns.

“Why are they all offline?” Rodimus is wondering that to and shoots a look at Preceptor who simply shrugs again.

“I imagine being forcibly drug through the time space continuum would knock any mech offline.” Rodimus imagines it would to, and rubs at his chin in thought.

“Should we get Ratchet up here?” He asks, and Drift nods in ascent.

“I believe we should. None of them seem to be injured but I think he’d better come take a look. Want me to comm him?”

Rodimus nods because Drift is always the best option when it comes to dealing with Ratchet.

“Oh, and another thing” Drift says, giving Rodimus a concerned look. “Don’t some of these mech’s look familiar, and not just the Ratchet look-a-like?”

Rodimus turns to once again look at their visitors, taking a few steps closer to poke a very yellow arm with one of his pedes. He follows the limb up to an equally yellow chassis, which connects to helm that bares an eerie resemblance to Bumblebee.

“Oh yeah,” He says after a moment. “That’s kinda spooky.”

Behind them, Brainstorm squawks as Ultra Magnus advances upon him with a pair of stasis cuffs swinging from one of his large hands. Megatron is behind him glaring and Preceptor, standing off to the side, looks bored.

“Brainstorm as the enforcer of the Tryst Accord you are under arrest for the possession and use of an illegal and dangerous substance, as well as unethical experimentation on sentient life forms. You have put both the ship and it’s crew in danger and will face appropriate disciplinary action in the form of a trial whose date is yet to be decided. Do you choose to come quietly, or must I execute the use of force?”

“Rodimus!” Brainstorm squeaks, still holding his hands out in front of himself. “You can’t let him arrest me! This was done _for science_! Think of the possibilities I’ve opened up with the -”

“Uh, Brainy,” Rodimus cuts him off with a wince. “I think for now you’d better just let Mags arrest you. We’ll uh, deal with everything later. But right now there is definitely no talking him down.”

Brainstorm looks between Rodimus’ pinched face and Ultra Magnus who looks ready to start blowing steam and lets his shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine,” he mumbles after a moment, lowering his hands and holding them out so Magnus can cuff him. “But this is _genius_ I tell you! Pure genius! One day everyone is going to be talking about how I, Brainstorm -”

He gets no further because Magnus abruptly slaps on the stasis cuffs and his whole frame begins to slump to the floor. Magnus catches him before he does and hefts him over one shoulder like a sack of empty energon cubes.

Rodimus lets out a vent he didn’t even know he was holding as Ultra Magnus pivots on his heel and begins to stalk out of the lab.

Megatron looks back and fourth, as though debating weather he should stay or follow Ultra Magnus down to the brig. Rodimus rolls his optics and shoots him a look because he really shouldn't have to be dealing with this. “Go with him.” He says, flapping a hand in the direction of the door. “Go make sure he doesn't arrest half the ship on his way there. I think Drift and I can handle this for now.”

Megatron glowers at him but doesn't say another word as he turns and makes for the lab doors. Rodimus rolls his optics skyward and says a silent prayer that’s really more begging than anything else. He’s definitely not thanked near enough for all of the slag he puts up with on a daily basis.

He turns back to Drift after a moment and watches as he once again takes not-Ratchet’s hand into his own, examining it front and back with a far-away look on his face. Rodimus sighs internally for what feels like the millionth time today. Even a Ratchet look-alike is enough to steal all of Drift’s attention. The poor guy really has it bad.

And speaking of Ratchet, Rodimus thinks, as he bends to tap Drift on the shoulder, he really hopes the doc is on his way already because Rodimus is soooo ready for someone else to be dealing with this right now.

“Have you commed Ratch yet?” He asks, giving Drift a hopeful look.

“Huh? Oh yes, he should be here any moment.” Drift says, though his optics never leave not-Ratchet.

It takes all of Rodimus’ willpower not to put his head in his hands and he decides to distract himself from his woefully pathetic best friend by crouching down again and studying the mech closest to him.

This mech at least doesn't seem to be a slightly off version of someone he knows. There’s nothing about the bright red plating and the admittedly attractive chassis that rings any bells, and certainly nothing familiar about the long red arm ending in... holy slag, those were some gnarly looking claws.

Rodimus is saved from his surprise (and mild fear) by the sound of pede steps he would know anywhere. They sounded annoyed. So it could definitely only be -

“All right, what in the pit is going on up here?”

Ratchet.

Beside him Drift snaps out of his stupor, blinking his optics as though he’s just come back from some place faraway. He turns his helm and eughh... the smile he shoots at actual-Ratchet is enough to make Rodimus’ tank turn.

Ratchet himself is standing a few paces inside the doorway, arms crossed across his chassis and one pede tapping on the floor.

“Well?” He says, giving them both a look that could put Ultra Magnus to shame in terms of raw irritability.

Drift fumbles, nearly falling face-first as he tries to stand to fast. Rodimus’ optics roll so hard he thinks they might be stuck in his helm. Not that, that would be a bad thing if it meant he never had to see his usually poised best friend acting like a tittering new-spark ever again.

Drift was not going to be any help here, Rodimus just knew it.

Taking in a deep vent, Rodimus stands and turns to face the medic, mirroring the other mech’s pose by placing a hand on his hip and working up his best winning grin.

“Well Ratch, it’s a pretttyyy long story.”

* * *

After, when Rodimus is done weaving his best version of the tale, Ratchet stands with a blank look on his face. It’s good enough to rival Preceptor, Rodimus has to give him that, but he doubts the perpetually irate doctor will be able to hold it for long.

“So you’re telling me -”

“Yep.” Rodimus cuts him off.

“And over there...”

“Uh huh.” He flicks his hand in the vague direction of their new guests.

“Primus,” Ratchet mumbles, stalking across the lab. He brushes past Drift without so much as a look, and Rodimus internally winces at the flash of longing that passes across Drift’s face. Poor mech.

“They’re all offline.” Rodimus nods, though Ratchet can’t see him with his back turned.

“Preceptor said a trip into another universe would probably do that to you.”

Ratchet makes a sound of agreeance, then a sound of surprise as he picks up the arm Drift had been all but fondling earlier.

“Is this... supposed to be me?” He turns to look at Rodimus and the look on his face is one of horror. It takes everything Rodimus has to hold back a snicker.

“Yeah, we were wondering that to. Mech sure looks like you, whoever he is.”

Ratchet drops the arm he’s holding like it just suddenly developed a nasty case of scraplets before standing and backing up a few paces. He reaches up to pinch at his nasal ridge in a way Rodimus has felt like doing since this whole thing began.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “I’m having First Aid, Ambulon and Velocity bring up some stretchers. We’d better get these... mech's.... down to med-bay so I can get a good look at them.” He turns to face them and lets out a long sigh. “I suppose you two should also come. There’s no telling what’s going to happen once they wake up.”

Rodimus nods, because it’s the captain-y thing to do. Inside though he’s screaming, because whatever happens, it’s going to involve a lot of paperwork.

He just knows it.


	2. In Kansas no Longer

Ratchet comes back online slowly, aware of a strut deep ache. His HUD, as it boots up, pings him unhappily with feedback indicating a full system reboot. He groans and tries to pull up the latest memory files from his sluggish processor. What had he been doing last? Had he gotten so over charged he’d knocked himself into temporary stasis? It certainly felt that way.

Feeling like the pit, but knowing better than to just slip back into recharge, he manages to wrangle his protesting systems into starting a full frame scan. The results filter in slowly, no damage to his outward frame, nothing internal either. His energy levels are normal, tipping towards red – but fine for the moment. That meant he hadn't gotten processor-meltingly over charged – something else had knocked him offline.

Cursing inwardly, because of course nothing could ever be simple, he hesitatingly cracks his optics open, flinching at the bright light glaring down from above. As his optics adjust to the harsh light he becomes aware of a steady beeping sound to his left.

It sounds suspiciously like a vitals-monitor, and as his vision stops swimming he turns his helm and yes... yes that is a monitor blinking away beside him. He recognizes each and every little blip; spark-beat, energon pressure, processor activity, but not the machine itself. It’s configured differently then the ones he’s become used to using on the nemesis, and it’s certainly not the cobbled together piece of scrap he’d been using back on earth, which could only mean...

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Later, Ratchet would deny the startled full frame jump the sound of that voice caused. For the moment though, he all but throws himself up, ignoring the stinging pain of wires and cables ripping free from his arm.

“Goodness! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Through the hammering of his spark he turns to look at whoever the voice belongs to. Bright, aqua plating is the first thing that comes into view, and long legs leading to a slender chassis and a face he definitely doesn't recognize.

Battle protocols spring to life in a fraction of a second, and faster than anyone would likely guess he’d be able, Ratchet is off the berth and crouched defensively on the floor. The command to engage his plasma blades yields nothing, and inwardly he curses. His weaponry has been locked, likely by a foreign piece of code, which means he’ll have to improvise then.

One of his subsystems is already busy tracking down the code used to inhibit his weapons systems and with any luck it won’t be a match for his own coding expertise. While he’s busy doing that the unknown mech standing in the doorway blinks at him, hands rising up in a placating gesture.

“Oh, oh, it’s okay! I really didn’t mean to startle you!”

They take a nervous step back when he tightens his plating, hands forming fists to make up for his lack of weapons. In the back of his processor, his systems finally catch the foreign piece of code keeping his blades on lock down. It had been much harder to locate than he’d expected, almost melding seamlessly within his own. Whoever had put it into place was good, an expert even, but, Ratchet thought with a grimace, there likely wasn’t a Cybertronian left with his level of expertise. Now, he just had to strip it away.

The other mech is still looking at him, glancing anxiously this way and that. They catch his optic and smile, but nervousness is obvious in how shaky it comes out.

“Look, I’m not a threat. My name’s Velocity, I’m a medic. I know you must be confused, but I can explain! Sort-of...”

Ratchet shifts again, eyeing the other mech more thoroughly. They have no weapons of their own engaged, nor seem to be attempting to do so. Their posture is tense, but more out of fear than hostility, and... had they just said they were a medic?

Certainly no one Ratchet knew, but unless this was all just a bad flux and he was busy back on the nemesis sleeping off a bender, there were some questions that definitely needed answering.

“You had better start! Just where the hell am I?” He barks, unapologetic for how rough the words come out.

Velocity jumps, as though not expecting him to speak. They take another step back so that they’re nearly pressed up against the door frame, and take a shaky invent.

“You’re... you’re aboard the Lost Light... in the medbay to be exact and... and uhhh...” They pause and shake their helm a little, optics blinking owlishly. “And this is going to sound insane, because everything on this ship is insane, but you were sorta transported here... by accident? I’m not really sure, but umm, it’s okay! Because you’re safe! So can you stop looking like you want to tear my head off?”

Velocity finishes by giving him another one of those hesitant smiles and Ratchet feels something within him ease. He’s still on guard, and about as confused as a mech can get, but something tells him this Velocity really isn't a threat. And either way, he’s finished stripping out the foreign code and his weapons systems are back online, which means he’s not defenseless should things start heading south.

Slowly, and not letting his optics leave their face, Ratchet uncrouches from his defensive position on the floor. His joints protest as he stands, but he ignores them with practiced ease, straightening to his full height and crossing his arms.

“That’s not really much of an explanation.” He says finally, keeping a bit of the bite out of his voice.

Velocity’s shoulders slump a little in relief, and the smile on their face switches from nervous to apologetic.

“I know, I’m a little muddy on the details though. It’s been a pretty crazy day, more so than usual. Which I guess should be expected by now...” They trail off, brow ridge crinkling in thought. “Someone should be here soon who can explain things better, at least I really hope so. I’ve commed my superior to let him know your up, his name’s Ratchet, and he’s an Autobot! I hope hope that makes you feel better, I mean, you’re an Autobot too, right?”

Ratchet blinks, and then blinks again.

“What?” He says, as Velocity's words sink in.

“You’re an Autobot?”

“No, not that!” He snaps, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his tank. “Your superior’s name is _what?_”

Velocity gives him a look, managing to be both confused and concerned at the same time. “Ratchet? You uh, kinda look like him actually.”

His spark feels like it’s freezing in his chest, and Ratchet can’t help the way his venting hitches. A million thoughts bombard his processor, each spiraling into an arc of confusion and panic. He’s not left to flounder long though, as the sound of approaching pede steps snap his concentration back up towards the door.

Velocity brightens, smile growing as she turns to face the open doorway.

“Oh! That must be him now! Don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands.”

He barely hears what Velocity says past the screaming in his processor, thoughts stuck in an endless loop of _what the frag, what the frag, what the frag!_

All to soon the owner of the pedes appears in the doorway, and Ratchet jerks so hard at the sight of him that a gear in his shoulder pops in irritation. It’s like looking into a slightly distorted mirror he thinks belatedly, something familiar but different enough to be jarring.

“Alright Velocity I’m here, what’s – oh, you’re up.”

There’s a moment where they simply stare at one another, optics locked in a strange in-between of calculation and weary hesitance.

Then the... doppelganger? Clone? Nightmare? Ratchet wouldn't really be surprised if any one of those things turned out to be true – sighs and shoots a look at Velocity.

“Why don’t you go help out the others Lotty, I’ve got this from here.”

It’s a command veiled in suggestion, said in a tone of cultured indifference Ratchet knows well enough because by this point in his life, it’s just about the only tone he can muster most days.

It’s eerie.

Like listening to a recording of himself come to life.

Velocity however, brightens, either not sensing or ignoring the palpable tension filling the room. “Of course sir! I’ll just uh, leave you two to get acquainted.” And they’re gone just like that, pausing only to cast a smile and a thumbs up at Ratchet from over the shoulder of the... whoever he is.

“Well,” the other says, clearing their vocalizer once Velocity is gone. “I think there are a few things that need to be clarified.”

“You don’t say.” Ratchet finds himself snapping back, tightening his arms even more across his chassis in a manner he knows is standoffish.

It feels warranted in this situation.

The other sighs and rolls his optics up toward the ceiling. “Look, I feel like introductions are in order, if nothing else, so I’ll start. My name is Ratchet, former Autobot CMO and current CMO of the ship The Lost Light, which is where you are right now. Can you state your designation?”

Ratchet feels like laughing, because this is definitely a dream. Had he and Knock Out cracked open the nightmare fuel again? That was last time he was ever going to drink anything that glitch offered him.

Other Ratchet clears his vocalizer again and pins him with the look Ratchet himself uses when a patient is being particularly stubborn. And oh isn't that just hilarious, his own look being used against him.

Against his better judgment Ratchet lets loose a desperate sounding laugh. It’s pathetic, even to his own audials, but he can’t find it within himself to care when his processor is running so quickly it’s on the verge of crashing.

“As if you don’t know!” He manages to get out, past the laughter that’s quickly turning into wheezing hiccups. “You know exactly who I am, don’t you?”

Other Ratchet’s face darkens and he takes a few swift steps forward, coming within touching distance of Ratchet himself.

“Alright, calm down. You’re going to crash if you don’t.” He reaches out and grasps Ratchet by the arm, grip tightening when Ratchet tries to wrench it away. “Easy! Come on, _you_ should know better than this!”

And there it is, all the proof he needs wrapped up in the insinuation of one word. This mech knows exactly who he is, and... and what is he even supposed to do with that, anyway?

Ratchet becomes aware he’s still freaking out when a warning pops up in his HUD about elevated spark rate. At the same time other Ratchet curses and starts pushing against his chest.

“Come on, just sit down, there you go, sit and take a deep vent alright?”

Ratchet does, not because this other is telling him to though, but because he’s a doctor, dammit. Any doctor worth their copper knows how to stop a panic attack.

“There you go, just keep venting, optics on me, alright?”

_No_, he thinks, past the feeling of his processor over-loading, _that’s half the problem right there._

Despite that thought, Ratchet still glances up towards the other who’s brow ridges are drawn in concern. He takes another deep vent and forces himself to focus on the feel of his spark slowing from it’s rapid spin. Moments tick by and gradually the overload of thought streams clouding his processor begin to fade into the background.

The whole time, other Ratchet has kept his hands on him, one curled around his wrist and the other pressing heavily on his shoulder. His hands are warm against plating Ratchet is just now realizing has become cold in the wake of his panic. He can’t help the shiver that shoots up his spinal-strut as sensory circuits start booting back up.

“Now,” the other says, voice low and patient. “Are we good to talk?”

Ratchet wants to shake his helm. Close his optics and open them again where he’s becoming less and less sure he’ll wake up back on the nemesis with a killer hangover. Instead he resets his vocalizer and sucks in a final deep vent.

“Yes... yes I suppose we are.” His voice cracks with static, but he manages to get the words out.

“Good.” The other says, and he straightens and pulls his hands back. Ratchet won’t admit to missing them and their grounding presence, but a voice in the back of his processor grumbles at their loss.

“Let’s try this again from the beginning. My name is Ratchet, and we are aboard the ship The Lost Light.” He pins Ratchet with a look, as though judging weather or not this repeated information is going to send him into full on panic again. For his part Ratchet stays still, forcefully pushing his rampant thoughts into the back of his processor. After a moment of eyeing him, the other continues, keeping his tone even and level.

“Several cycles ago one of our science officers _indulged_ in an unauthorized experiment which had... _unintended_ consequences.”

Ratchet does not like where this is going, he’s been witness to enough experiments gone wrong to know that unintended consequences never mean anything good.

“To make short of it,” the other says, effectively snapping Ratchet out of his spiraling thoughts. “_You_ were the consequence.” He sighs and scrubs at his face tiredly. “I’m still working out the _how_, but the truth is you are no longer in your own universe.”

A heavily pregnant silence fills the room, during which Ratchet does his best to slap the pieces together. An alternate universe? It would be a laughable explanation for anyone who wasn’t already far to down the petro-rabbit hole of inexplicable and frankly preposterous dealings. It’s also the most favorable explanation he supposes, when the alternates are things like clones or – and he inwardly shudders at this – shadow play.

Ratchet feels himself ease a little further, because this? This he can deal with. It’s no pit-slagged artifact, no predacon, no terra-forming, or Primus damned _Unicron_ waking up and throwing a tantrum from within the earth’s core.

He lets out a long vent and slouches back into the med-berth, feeling his tank unravel from it’s complicated knot. “Thank Primus,” he says, letting his optics capture his counterpart’s. “I thought you were going to tell me something worse was going on.”

Other Ratchet blinks, and then blinks again. “So you accept this, just like that?” The concerned look is back on his face, but Ratchet just snorts in response.

“Yup. At this point it’s just another day I guess”

“But you were freaking out not even five minutes ago!”

Ratchet shrugs, and relaxes his plating a little more. “This is tame, compared to what I thought was going on.”

Other Ratchet blows out a vent and pinches at his nasal ridge. Ratchet feels mildly sorry for him, it looks like he’s been having a rough day.

“Tell you what,” he says, sitting up again. “I can probably help you figure out how to send me back, but did I come through by myself or...?”

“You came with company.” Other him says flatly, and internally Ratchet winces.

“Great,” and he sighs at the implication. “I take it none of them are awake yet, then?”

It’s not that Ratchet’s not fond of his teammates so much as he’s already anticipating the amount of trouble they’re likely to get into in a place like this. It’s a helm ache he’s not looking forward to experiencing.

“They were all still in stasis, last I checked, and no reports have come through stating otherwise.” Other him is starting to look a bit edgy, a feeling Ratchet knows all to well. “Why, are they going to be a problem?”

Ratchet shrugs again. “Problem? Pain in the aft? Spark attack waiting to happen? Take your pick.”

Other Ratchet groans and hisses something through clenched denta that sounds a lot like _as if I need anymore of that_. Ratchet feels sympathetic, because if there’s anything he knows, and knows well, it’s the feeling of having more on an already full plate.

“Come on,” he says after a moment, sliding down off the med berth and starting for the door. “You’d better take me to them, it’ll probably go better if they wake up with me there rather than one of your other medics.”

_Probably_ Ratchet thinks again, _so long as Wheeljack doesn't wake up before I get there._

* * *

When they make it down the hallway and round the corner into the med bay proper, Ratchet stops in his tracks. He can’t help the appreciative hum his vocalizer lets out as his optics scan the room.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” He says, casting a look at his counterpart. “Is that a spark decompression chamber? I haven’t seen one of those since we left Cybertron.”

His counterpart nods distractedly, placing a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder and giving it a light shove. “Yes, yes, I’ll show it all to you later, right now I want to deal with your _friends._”

Ratchet rolls his optics but keeps going in the direction he’s being pushed. “They’re not going to tear the place apart, if that’s what you’re thinking. Besides, you disabled their weapons systems, didn’t you? The only one your going to have to worry about getting out of that is Knock Out.”

“Who?” Other Ratchet asks, his shoving getting a little more urgent.

“Red mech, real shiny, uselessly long claws.” Ratchet says, giving one of his hands a shake to demonstrate. Not that, that would be enough to possibly explain Knock Out to anyone. Ratchet had a hard enough time explaining Knock Out to himself, let alone to... well, _himself_. “He’s a doctor too, arrogant as all pit, but skilled enough. I doubt he’ll have much issue getting out of your little code-lock.”

“Great,” other Ratchet grumbles, and then stops his shoving for a second. “Wait, did _you_ dismantle the code I put in place?”

Ratchet scoffs, turning his helm to look over his shoulder at the other. “Seriously? I had that stripped before you even got to the room.” Really, any version of him should know better than to think a simple piece of code would be enough to keep him down and out. It was actually a little bit insulting, the more he thought about it. This other him had known who he was, likely within the first few moments after he hacked into Ratchet’s systems, and he thought a code-lock would be enough to keep his weapons down? Perhaps this other version of him was just soft.

“Primus above. I guess I should have expected that.” There’s a sort of resignation to other Ratchet’s tone, like he’s just starting to realize what can of worms this Brainstorm has opened up. “When you encounter Ultra Magnus – and you will – can you not mention that to him? I have enough paperwork to do as it is.”

Ratchet blinks, and a curl of what feels like mirth tugs at his spark. “Ultra Magnus? Ho boy.”

“What?” The other asks, as he brings them to a stop outside a large set of double-doors. He crosses his arms and gives Ratchet a pointed look. “If you say what I think you’re going to say, I’m going down to the brig to convert Brainstorm into a toaster.”

Ratchet does grin this time. “Better get your tools ready then. And might I suggest a toilet over a toaster? Might be more appropriate.”

His counterpart groans.

“For pit sake. You know this was supposed to be my retirement?”

Ratchet gives him a strange look, wondering about the sanity of the other standing before him. “Did you choose this, or did someone make the decision for you?”

“Choose,” the other sighs, tapping at a panel on the wall. “Like every regrettable decision in my life.”

“Well,” Ratchet says after a moment, watching as the doors slide open to reveal a large patient room. “We’ve that in common, if nothing else.”

His counterpart says nothing, instead moving through the open doors into the well lit room. Ratchet follows, optics taking in the details. It’s a big room, rows of med berths sectioned off by curtains. Each berth is occupied by one of Ratchet’s teammates, all of them jacked into a vitals monitor as he himself had been. In the left corner the entire wall is taken up by a massive console where the medic from before, _Velocity_, he remembers, is busy tapping away. Beside her, seated on a stool, is a mech with flaking paint that Ratchet doesn't recognize.

Other Ratchet clears his vocalizer, catching the attention of the two across the room. “Lotty, Ambulon, any updates?”

Velocity swivels on her seat, optics lighting up as she catches sight of her boss. “No sir! Nothing yet. But big blue’s processor activity has been spiking the past few minutes, I think he’s going to wake up soon.” She smiles past her boss at Ratchet, giving him a little wave.

_Great_, Ratchet thinks, as he turns his optics on the mech in question. _This is going to be a hoot to explain to Ultra Magnus._

It seemed fun time with his counterpart was over, so with an internal sigh Ratchet stalks his way over to Magnus’ berth. He shoots a look over his shoulder at other Ratchet, catching his optics and giving him his best _stay back_ look.

“I’m going to wake him up.” He says loud enough for the three mech’s in the room to hear him. “But I’m going to jack into him while I do to keep him from going into attack mode. If you value your faces, _stay_ where you are.”

Nobody says anything else, and Ratchet carefully unspools one of his medical cables from it’s place in his arm. He flips Ultra Magnus’ medical port open and with practiced ease slides the jack home.

He’s in Magnus’ systems in a flash, pressing past firewalls with his medical override codes. He’s worked on Magnus enough the mech’s systems recognize him, allowing him to dig around and jump start the process of waking up subsystems.

Bit by bit he draws him out of stasis, but he keeps Magnus’ attack protocols down. They fight him, of course, trying to engage despite the lock he’s holding in place.

When Magnus’ processor is online enough that thought streams start forming, Ratchet opens a direct link between them.

**:Magnus? This is Ratchet, can you understand me?:**

There’s a moment of silence between the two before Magnus responds, his voice sounding faraway.

**:Ratchet? I... yes. Yes I can hear you.:**

**:Good.:** Ratchet says, not lingering in his response.**: Listen, you’re waking up from sudden, temporary stasis. I’ve almost finished bringing you fully back online. Now, before you start panicking, yes your weapon system is locked, but I’m working on bringing it back online. And yes, I am keeping your battle protocols muted. I will let them go, but first you need to listen to me and listen to me well.:**

He pauses long enough to give Magnus time to process everything he’s said before continuing, not waiting for a response. **:We are not on Cybertron anymore, we are on a ship called The Lost Light. A scientist here preformed some sort of experiment involving dimension travel. It seems we were caught in the cross hairs and are now in a universe parallel our own. I repeat, a universe parallel to our own. This is not a joke. I have been out of stasis for a few breems now and have established this fact myself. I need you awake, but I need you to be calm. We are surrounded by Cybertronian inhabitants of this world. So far I have encountered no hostility, in fact, many of these mech’s seem to be this world’s version of the Autobots. I am cautiously hopeful that we are safe for the time being. If you understand everything I have just told you, please respond.:**

There’s another pause, during which Ratchet can feel more of Ultra Magnus’ processor waking up before the defacto leader of the Autobots answers him.

**:I... yes Ratchet, I understand everything you have stated.:** With his emotional cores now online, Ratchet can feel confusion/panic beginning to stir inside Ultra Magnus, but true to his reputation of being unshakable, the big blue mech manages to force the feelings down. **:What is the status of the others?:**

**:They are here with us as well, but remain in stasis for the time being. I wanted to bring you online first. There are three mech’s in the room with us who belong to this world, one of them...:** Here Ratchet hesitates, unsure in how to go about explaining the existence of their counterparts. He decides it may just be best to tell Magnus flat out, the other mech had never been a fan of skirting around an issue. **:One of them is this world’s version of myself.:**

He waits a moment, trying to feel out how Magnus is going to react based on the information being fed across their link. There’s a brief flare of shock before it’s swallowed up by the feeling of curiosity. The reaction’s surprising to Ratchet, who’s only ever known Ultra Magnus to be grimly unamused by the world in general.

**:I see.:** He says after a moment, and Ratchet relaxes when it becomes apparent Ultra Magnus has no intention of throwing himself off the berth, guns blazing, as Ratchet himself had tried to do. **:Are you the only one with a counterpart here or are versions of us all roaming about?:**

Ratchet gives the equivalent of a mental shrug across the link, wondering the same thing himself. **:I don’t know. Based on the information I’ve gathered so far I can only say for certain that an alternate of both myself and you exist.:**

Ratchet is pulled from is internal dialogue with Magnus by the sound of a vocalizer clearing behind him. A quick glance at his chronometer shows that he’s been in Magnus’ systems for several minutes, longer than it should have taken to bring him out of stasis.

**:Scrap,:** he says, pulling back his hold on his commander’s battle protocols. **:I need to pull out now, I think my counterpart is starting to get antsy. Your weapons system is back online, and my scans show that nothing else has been tampered with. Just take it easy when you get up, don’t let them know I’ve reengaged your guns – though I imagine the other me figures I’ll have done it anyway.:**

Ratchet doesn't wait for a verbal response, instead sending a last impression of calm/patience across the link at Ultra Magnus before pulling himself back out. He straightens once the link has been severed, locking his optics with Magnus’ own as he silently un-jacks from his medical port and removes the wires keeping him hooked into the vital monitor.

Ultra Magnus, true to form, sits up calmly on the med berth. Ratchet finishes spooling his cable back up and with one last look at his commander, squares his shoulders and turns to face his counterpart once again.

“Alright,” he says, “he’s aware of the situation. Thank you for allowing me to be the one to awaken him.” He’s only now realizing that no one had tried to stop him from waking up the biggest and most intimidating of all of Ratchet’s comrades. It’s surprising, when he thinks about it, and is silently thankful for the trust his counterpart is giving him. “I’ll get the others up too, in just a moment, but before that,” he turns to look at Magnus over his shoulder, beckoning him forward with his optics. “I think we should have introductions, before this gets any more confusing.”

All optics are on him as Magnus comes to stand beside him. Velocity is practically vibrating with excitement from where she sits, and Ambulon is giving them a wary look from beside her. Ratchet’s counterpart is standing with his arms crossed, a look of defeated resignation on his face.

“My name is Ratchet,” Velocity gasps from the other side of the room, optics blowing wide. “I am my worlds Autobot CMO, and former member of team Prime.” He locks his optics on the other him, gauging his reactions by the body language they seem to share. “This is my commander, Ultra Magnus, current leader of the Autobots.” Velocity all but flails out of the chair, and even Ambulon gives a start at his words.

His counterpart’s gaze darkens, optics clouding with an emotion Ratchet has seen reflected in his own many countless nights. A million words seem to pass between the two of them as they continue to stare one another down, lost in the back and fourth of understanding.

Finally Ratchet pulls away, turning his gaze on Ultra Magnus. “Do you have anything to add, sir?” He asks, realizing how tired he’s become dealing with this on his own. Of the two of them, Magnus is much more suited to diplomacy.

“Yes,” Magnus says, squaring his shoulders and sweeping his optics across the room. “I wish first to state that we mean you no harm. As I have been made aware, our being here is accidental on your part, I should like further detail on this when it is suitable for you.”

He spares a glance to each mech in the room, optics landing on Ratchet’s counterpart. “I take it you are this ships CMO?” He asks, raising a brow ridge.

Other Ratchet nods, letting his arms fall from their position across his chassis.

“Yeah, I’m the commanding medical officer of The Lost Light.”

Magnus nods and takes a few steps forward on his long legs. He stops just in front of other Ratchet and offers one of his large hands. “I am pleased to meet you,” he says, taking the counterparts hand when offered. They shake, and after a moment Magnus steps back. “Who is the captain of this ship?” He asks, and Ratchet perks up at that. He’s been wondering the same thing.

“That would be Rodimus and uh... Rodimus.” Ratchet catches the subtle flinch his counterpart tries to hide. He’s holding something back, clearly, but Ratchet’s going to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.

“He’s waiting in my office with his TIC, actually. I wanted to wait until at least a few of you were awake and kicking before bringing him in. Want me to comm him?”

Magnus nods stiffly and other Ratchet’s optics dilate in the clear sign of a mech making a comm. Ratchet wonders who this Rodimus character will turn out to be, and weather or not he’ll be as easy to deal with as the medics in the room.

As though hearing his thoughts, Velocity pipes up from by the console, flashing them all a dazzling smile. “You’ll love Rodimus! He’s a great captain!” Ambulon lets out a strangled snort from his stool and Velocity smacks him on the arm. “Oh shush! He really is! He’ll definitely help you guys get home.”

Ratchet hopes so, because the state they had left their home in had not been great. Between Shockwave and his Predacon’s still roaming about and Starscream missing in action, they were likely to return home to a smoldering pile of ash.

He’s pulled out of his darkening thoughts by the sound of a chime filling the room, and Other Ratchet moves to open the door. He stops when he reaches it, and looks back at them from over his shoulder.

“That’s Rodimus,” he says, and sucks in a sigh. “Look, I’ll tell you this now, just so you’re prepared. Rodimus is... not what you’d expect a captain to be. He’s not a bad mech but he’s... oh, it’s probably best if you see for yourselves.”

With that other Ratchet jabs a button on the wall and the doors slide open. He takes a quick step back, nearly knocking into Ultra Magnus, as a blur of red shoots through the door.

“I’m here!” Rodimus all but squeals, barely missing running full tilt into other Ratchet and Magnus. “So they’re up? Where are – whoa.”

Rodimus stops short when he see Ultra Magnus, optics cycling comically as he looks the mech up and down. “Uh, Mags? I thought you were up on the bridge filing an incident report... and did you... did you mod your armor? What’s... wait, you’re not Magnus!”

Other Ratchet snorts and steps around the two, moving closer to Ratchet, who’s busy eyeing this new mech with a look of disbelief.

“Told you.” His counterpart says, nudging him with his elbow. “Rodimus definitely speaks better for himself.”

There’s a moment where Rodimus and Ultra Magnus simply stare at one another, before Rodimus blows out a vent and cocks his head to the side.

“Sooo... who are you?” He asks, once again eyeing Magnus up and down.

Ultra Magnus huffs, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He extends a hand, and angles his head down to better meet Rodimus’ optics.

“I am Ultra Magnus, just not the version you’re used to.”

Ratchet gets the feeling Rodimus isn't often speechless, but he certainly seems to be now. His optics cycle, then cycle again, mouth moving, but no words coming out. Finally, without so much as a sound, he grasps Magnus’ hand.

From behind Rodimus a small, soft laugh sounds. Ratchet glances towards the door, where a slender, white mech is standing. The mech has a hand pressed against his lips, as though trying to contain his humor.

Rodimus turns to glare at the white mech, releasing Ultra Magnus’ hand in the process. “It’s not funny Drift,” he all but whines. “There are two of them! _Two!_”

Drift takes a step forward, the lines around his optics crinkled in mirth. “I’m sorry Roddy,” he says, coming to a stop beside his captain. “But you have to admit this is pretty funny.”

Ultra Magnus chooses this moment to cut in, and he turns his attention on Drift. “As I have already stated, I am Ultra Magnus, commander of my worlds Autobots. Are you third in command of this ship?”

Drift smiles, and holds his hand out to offer a shake. “Yes I am, and I’d like to apologize on behalf of my crew for causing this incident.” A tiny bit of fang pokes out over his lip as he continues to smile, and Ratchet feels his spark spin just a bit faster. But damn, the mech is gorgeous, all sleek lines and shining plating.

Ratchet pulls himself out of his ogling when his counterpart elbows him again, and he nearly jumps at the contact. “What?” He says, more snappish than intended. Other Ratchet snorts and leans closer to speak directly into his audial.

“Careful, your optics might fall out.”

His frames flushes hot, and his counterpart laughs deeply beside him. Ratchet crosses his arms and plasters his best look of indignation on his face, more than ready to return the ribbing in full. He stops however, when he realizes all optics have turned to them.

Drift in particular is eyeing them both, his cheeky smile easing into something low and warm. His optics are bright, watching them both in tandem. Rodimus looks from one Ratchet to the other, seemingly over his earlier shock as he raises a brow ridge and cocks his head to the side.

“Okay, so if that other guy is alternate Magnus... then you,” and he points at Ratchet, “must be an alternate Ratchet! Ohhh! Ha, that’s funny.” He nudges Drift. “Isn't that funny Drifty?” There’s a note of sarcasm to his tone that tells Ratchet he’s missing something.

Drift rolls his optics and steps away from Rodimus’ prodding. “Yes Roddy, funniest thing that’s happened all day.”

He moves towards Ratchet and his counterpart, pedes barely making a sound on the steel floor. “I’m Drift, it’s nice to meet you.” He offers Ratchet the same hand he’d offered Ultra Magnus. “Are you really an alternate Ratchet?”

Ratchet grasps the offered hand, which tightens briefly when they pull apart. He does his best not to think on it, especially with the way Drift is eyeing him.

“Yes,” he says, and Drift’s optics flash for a fraction of a second with something he’s unable to name.

“Well, if you’re anything like our Ratchet” and he turns his dazzling smile on the mech in question, “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home here on The Lost Light for as long as Primus wills you to stay.

Drift no sooner finishes speaking before alternate Ratchet snorts, once again crossing his arms across his chassis and leveling Drift with a look so loaded Ratchet thinks there’s a mighty story in there, somewhere.

“Cut the crap Drift,” his tone is harsh, dripping ire. “We all know this ain’t no joy ride, don’t be giving them that Primus crap.”

Drift’s face falls, and for a split second Ratchet, who’s still standing close enough to touch the other mech, feels his field pulse in hurt. He pulls it back in quickly, and the smile on his face never leaves, but it takes on a hollow quality, devoid of its former warmth.

Ratchet makes a mental note to stay far away from _that_.

Luckily, Rodimus seems to have become bored eyeing Ultra Magnus up and down like he expects him to grow another head, because he lets out a dramatic sigh that catches all of their attention.

“Okay, hate to break this griping party up but we still have some slag to go over, or whatever.”

“Uh, guys!”

Velocity cuts Ultra Magnus off, dragging their attention to the corner of the room where she is staring up at the console screen.

“I think red and shiny is going to wake up soon!”

Ratchet curses, tearing himself away from the group to head for Knock Out’s berth. Of course the slagger would choose now to wake up, rather than staying put for a few moments longer as Ratchet had intended.

His counterpart follows him across the room, and Ratchet finds it odd. He’s not used to having a tag along, he and Knock Out generally tried to stay clear of one another unless the situation called for both of their attention.

“Is this the mech you were talking about earlier?” Other Ratchet asks once they’ve crowded around the med berth.

Ratchet grunts in affirmative, already in the process of unspooling his data cable so he can ease Knock Out out of stasis as he had Ultra Magnus. He’s just about to jack in when the monitor flashes, showing a sharp spike in processor activity.

He curses again and readily prepares himself to have to hold Knock Out down, when the mech’s optics shoot open.

“Ughhh...” Knock Out groans, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “What did we do last night?”

Ratchet blows out a vent, relaxing his posture when it becomes apparent Knock Out isn't going to come flying off the berth kicking and screaming. He’d learned once, not to long ago, to never be to close to the other doctor when he was waking up unless he wanted to risk having a limb sawed off.

“Ratchet? What -” Knock Out freezes when he pulls his hand from his face, glancing first at Ratchet, and then at other Ratchet. “Uh... hello?” He blinks, and then blinks again, looking for all the world like a turbo fox caught in the head lights.

Ratchet wracks his processor for the words to explain what’s going on to the other mech before he starts loosing his slag. Of all of them, Knock Out is the most iffy in how he’ll handle the situation, and Ratchet wants to avoid an episode happening this soon, if possible.

Luckily, he’s saved from having to once again play the bearer of bad news by Ultra Magnus, who’s made his way over to them, Drift and Rodimus in tow.

“Knock Out,” the blue mech says, tone sharp and commanding. “We are currently in the middle of a situation,” he punctuates the last word with a look, one he’s seen Magnus use to bring Knock Out to task before. “I expect you to behave while things are being sorted out.”

Knock Out opens his mouth, only to close it, before opening it again. _“What?”_

Ratchet rolls his optics up towards the ceiling and silently prays for strength. He’s just about to grudgingly, yet again explain things, when his counterpart sets his hand on his shoulder and clears his vocalizer.

“Perhaps I should explain,” he mutters, and shoots a look at Knock Out. “Alright, listen close kid, ‘cause I’m not repeating myself. My name is Ratchet,” and he jabs himself in the chest. “And him? He’s Ratchet to,” the hand on Ratchet’s shoulder gently shakes his spoiler. “How the slag is that, you might ask? Well, one of the nimrods I happen to know decided to play with the time-space continuum _again_. The end result? You all stuck aboard this tin can of bull scrap.”

There’s a moment of thick silence where everyone waits for Knock Out’s response. Ratchet can practically feel Ultra Magnus vibrating, ready to restrain the speedster should the need arise.

They are all thrown off their guard however when Knock Out starts _laughing_. It starts low, but builds into the tank-deep sound of a mech deeply amused by what he’s been told.

“Oh! Ha ha ha ha ha! Are you _serious_ right now?” He swipes at his face with a hand, where Ratchet can see coolant pooling around his optics. “This is seriously the best thing that has ever happened! Oh, I can’t -” and his voice cracks into static. “_Two_ of you!”

Other Ratchet’s hand tightens again on Ratchet’s shoulder, and he speaks low enough that only Ratchet can hear. “You didn’t tell me he was _nuts._”

Ratchet’s not sure if nuts is quite the right word to explain Knock Out, but decides it’s as apt as any when the mech in question nearly topples off the berth thanks to how hard he’s still laughing.

Behind them, Ultra Magnus loudly clears his vocalizer and starts advancing towards Knock Out’s berth.

“Alright soldier! You’ve had your laugh. Now compose yourself!”

The command is enough to ease Knock Out’s fit, but he’s still shaking silently even as he pulls himself up into a sitting position.

“But _Herr Kommandant!_” He drawls, though the effect is ruined by the slight hiccuping of leftover laughter. “Even you must find this hilarious!”

“Um...” a soft sound from behind him has Ratchet turning, optics catching Drift’s, which are crinkled in concern. “Is he alright?”

Ratchet simply shrugs. “Seems normal to me.”

“Riiighhttt...” Rodimus says, looking from where Knock Out is still laughing to himself despite Magnus’ ire, to Ratchet with a look of disbelief on his face. “Seems _totally_ normal.”

Ratchet just shrugs once more because there really isn’t anything to say. It’s Knock Out for pit sake, there was no figuring that mech out.

Rodimus sighs and starts tapping a foot against the floor. “Well okay, whatever, as long as he’s not going to go psycho. Got more than enough of that going on, thanks.” Rodimus perks up at his own words, as though suddenly remembering something, before shooting a look at Drift.

“Hey, speaking of psycho, have you heard from Mags yet? Is he done impounding Brainstorm?”

Drift rolls his optics. “Ha, real funny Roddy. But yes, I’ve been keeping an open line with him, he knows what’s happening down here.”

“Good,” Alternate Ratchet says, looking from Drift to Rodimus. “Has he made any head way on figuring out this damn mess?”

The two mechs look at each other, and Drift winces. “Um, he said this is a pretty difficult situation and that he’s looking into it... but he wants us to get our visitors settled and that he’ll be along to speak to each of them once they’re all up...” Drift trails off, and he looks once again at Ratchet. “When are they all going to be up, anyway?”

“Honestly?” Ratchet says, glancing at his counterpart. “I could bring them all online now, if you want. But they’ll be up on their own shortly.” He keeps the disappointment out of his voice at Drift’s words, because of course they’re stuck here indefinitely. It’s exactly like life to go and make things difficult.

His counterpart makes a sound of consideration, and taps at his chin. “I think we should let them come to on their own,” he says after a moment, “being forced out of stasis isn’t good for the system, and besides,” he glances over his shoulder at Ultra Magnus and Knock Out, still having words behind them. “I feel like we’ve got enough on our hands as it is.”

Rodimus nods. “Yeah, I think you’re right Ratch. Sooo... how do you want to play this?” He looks at Drift again, who smiles and nods at his own Ratchet.

“I agree. Let’s leave them to come to on their own. I think Ultra Magnus” and he looks at Ratchet this time, “is more than capable of bringing your teammates up to speed, as well as keeping them calm should the need arise.”

Ratchet certainly has no problem with that. The last thing he wants to do is be the one to handle the fall out of all of his teammates waking up. It had been taxing enough to bring Ultra Magnus online, who was the calmest and most rational mech he knew, let alone Smokescreen or Primus forbid, _Wheeljack._

“Good.” Other Ratchet pipes up, once again setting a hand on his shoulder. Ratchet wonders why his counterpart feels the need to be so close, but can’t deny there is a strange calmness to it. Their fields are so similar, pressing up against one another in a way that makes it hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. It feels... good. Like some of his stress and perpetual misery is being bled away.

“There are some things I want to go over with you anyway,” and he squeezes Ratchet’s shoulder gently. “Let’s go to my office and we can talk. Drift, Rodimus, I think you two should hang around a bit longer. First Aid is in his office doing inventory, he’s on standby in case any of us need medical attention. I’m having Ambulon and Velocity stay here, just to handle the monitors.” He pauses and shoots a look at Rodimus. “And when I say stay here I _mean_ stay here. I don’t want to come back and find you hover boarding down the hallways, got it kid? Drift you keep him in line.”

Drift all but beams, another one of those warm smiles from earlier blooming across his face. “Of course Ratchet, I’ll make sure he stays responsible.”

Rodimus groans. “One time Ratch! One time! Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

Alternate Ratchet gives Rodimus the stink eye, already starting for the door. “Nope.”

Ratchets sees the moment Rodimus’ face falls, before screwing up into a childish pout. He wonders at how a mech like that managed to become captain of an entire ship, before realizing that it’s a drop in the cup of outlandish things he’s been witness to. He sighs and turns to make after other Ratchet.

He follows his counterpart to the door, feeling nervous in a way he hasn’t since Optimus was alive. His dear friend had always had a way of making him feel like a flustered newspark, ashamed of every bad decision he choose to make. He’s not sure why he feels this way now – he hasn’t done anything in the time he’s been here to warrant the feeling – but regardless, it festers.

Other Ratchet leads them across the medbay, not pausing in his steady pace. It’s a terribly big and well equipped place, and for a brief moment Ratchet feels a pang of jealously. There are so many things here he would do anything to get his hands on. So many resources he hasn’t had access to in so long. If only he’d had a fraction of this over the past few years, things could have been different.

He forces himself not to dwell on it, there’s no point. This isn’t his world, this reality doesn't exist for him and he doubts it ever will. If war had raged in this universe, they had obviously made it out better. Or perhaps were just further along. Or maybe the war was still raging, Ratchet realized he had no clue. It was something that would have to be brought up in time, preferably by someone other than him.

His counterpart stops at a door clear on the other side of the massive room. He taps quickly at a panel on the wall and the door slides open. He gestures for Ratchet to follow him with a wave of his hand.

The interior isn’t far off from what Ratchet would have imagined. It closely resembles his own office back on the nemesis, right down to the messy splay of data-pads littering the desk.

The door closes behind them once they’re both inside, and his counterpart stalks forward to flop down in the chair behind the desk. He points at the seat on the opposite side and gives Ratchet a look.

“Alright, sit down. Let’s talk.”

Ratchet shuffles forward and eases himself down into the chair, enjoying the way his joints relax at being off his feet. He’s old, there’s definitely no denying it.

He stays quiet, more then willing to wait for his counterpart to initiate whatever conversation he has brewing in his processor.

Rather than speaking however, Other Ratchet reaches for a data pad amongst the many scattered about. He powers it on with a tap, and then reaches across the desk to hand it over.

“Here, look at this and tell me what you think.”

Ratchet frowns and takes the pad, processor already working as he glances at what appears to be a patient report. It’s a full frame exploratory, he realizes, as each system and subsystem appears.

Things seem to be in order, for the most part, barring a bit of wear and tear. It looks more or less like the mech hasn’t been in for a tune up in a while, frustrating, but not uncommon. It’s only when he reaches the part where the report details fuel-tank and pump condition that Ratchet frowns.

There’s damage. But not the general kind one would expect from poor quality energon consumption or blunt force trauma. It looks as if some kind of corrosion has taken place, like the mech in question had consumed or been exposed to something toxic. The damage also look old, like it’s had time to set and deepen. The report indicates hairline fracturing around the most vital parts of the fuel pump. Generally, he thinks, self repair should have at least started to heal some of the damage, but another glance at the pad confirms the mech’s repair protocols are functioning sub optimally.

Ratchet frowns again and looks up at his counterpart, offering the data pad back. “Whoever this is needs something done right away, that damage is only going to spread. Likely end in a rust infection.”

Other Ratchet hums a thoughtful note, optics clear and precise as they lock with his own. “What would you recommend for treatment, then?”

Ratchet works his jaw in thought, processor already deep in working out a treatment plan. “Depends,” he says after a moment. “There are two routes you could take with this. Option one would be surgery; go in, treat the corrosion with an applied dose of extra strength nanites, clean the area, seal the fracturing. Post op recovery would be that hardest part of that though, the patient would need to take it very easy for a while, be started on a precise diet of supplemented energon to help jump start self repair.”

“And the second option?” His counterpart asks, fiddling with the pad in his hands.

“Second option is the least invasive, but even lengthier in terms of damage correction.” He taps his fingers against the desk, brow ridges drawing deep in thought. “If the patient chose this option I’d start them on a diet plan immediately. Supplemented energon, low-dose of nanites taken orally, lot’s of rest, no engex or any other stimulates. They’d have to be monitored in case the fracturing started to get worse, or the corrosion started to carry over into their lines... it would not be a quick solution, but I always opt against surgery if another route is possible.” Not that he’d been able to put that into practice for _years_. War didn’t leave much time for natural recovery.

Other Ratchet’s gaze pins his. He stares for a long time, optics clouded with something both soft and hard at the same time. Ratchet gets the feeling he’s missing something yet again, and is just about to ask what is really going on when his counterpart sucks in a vent.

“Alright then, choose.”

Ratchet blinks. “Excuse me?” He asks, leveling his counterpart with a confused look that’s becoming all to common.

“Pick an option and we’ll start.” His field grazes Ratchet’s own, a mix of sympathy and understanding. Despite the attempt at comfort, he feels himself start to flounder.

“What are you on about?!” He finally gets out, nerves tightening in his tank.

Other Ratchet sighs and pulls his field back, he stands and comes around to the other side of the desk, still holding the data pad in his hands.

“Look if you can’t guess who that report is on we have more than one problem here.” His gaze sharpens and he eyes Ratchet up and down with a lilt of disappointment. “What the hell did you do to yourself, anyway?”

Ratchet opens his mouth to speak, to get angry and defensive as the pieces lock into place, but finds his anger falls flat in the wake of the other’s look. He’s had that look leveled at him before, and it wraps his spark in shame.

“I... I had no idea it had gotten that bad.” He honestly hadn’t. After the synth-en incident he’d avoided taking a good look at himself. There had been pain of course, in the pit of his tank, but he’d figured that damage would heal on it’s own, given time. That he still felt a sharp spike of discomfort from time to time while fueling he’d put down to the stress of the war, or rebuilding.

Perhaps he should have taken a good look once things had settled down, but even then, what could he have done? The precious few medical resources they had left were needed else where, not wasted on a glitch who’d gone and done this to himself.

“I see.” His counterpart says, and his face softens a bit. “What’s done is done, I suppose. The question is, how do you want to proceed from here?” He reaches out and lays his hand on Ratchet’s shoulder again. “I know this isn’t easy for you, pit knows it wouldn't be easy for me either. I get it, okay? But I can’t let it go knowing what I know.”

A silence spreads between them, reaching out into every corner of the office. Ratchet’s spark twists, and the weight of the entire war seems to settle heavily in his tank. He blows out a vent and scrunches his optics closed.

“Second,” He says, not looking at other Ratchet. “We’ll go with the second option.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezes gently before pulling away, but his counterpart doesn't move from his spot. His field reaches out and nudges Ratchet’s own, flowing with the kind of warmth he’s long missed feeling in another.

“Okay.” Other Ratchet answers, pressing his field forward even more. “We’ll start soon, once things have settled a bit. I have another question though.”

“Shoot.” He says, still keeping his optics squeezed shut.

“What’s with the prosthetic your Ultra Magnus is using? My scans show it’s been attached for quite some time.”

Ratchet opens his optics at that, glad to be off the topic of himself. “Oh, he had it ripped off a while back. That prosthetic is all I had the resources to throw together.”

Other Ratchet hums contemplatively, he taps at his chin for a moment and seems to consider something. “We can have a replacement made, it’ll take a bit and I’ll need access to his frame specs, but it shouldn't be a problem.” He shoots Ratchet a look, seemingly in after thought. “And no you won’t be the one doing it. Minimal exertion until your scans come back clear.”

Ratchet gets the feeling this is how most of his patients feel when dealing with him. He huffs a bit in response and rolls his optics. “Yeah, whatever you say.”

“Damn right.” His counterpart says, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You wouldn't want to contradict yourself now, would you?”

Ratchet heaves an internal groan and rubs at his face. “I think I hate you.”

Other Ratchet laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before.”

This time the silence that falls between them is a little more comfortable, less loaded and easier to vent in now that things are out in the open. It feels good, companionable even, and Ratchet slouches back in his chair.

“How are your fuel levels?” His counterpart asks after a moment, and Ratchet frowns.

“Fine, mostly.”

He’s given another look and rolls his optics at the other again. “Thirty-eight percent,” he says, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “Good enough.”

His counterpart tsks at him, turning and walking a few steps towards a cabinet with an energon dispenser sitting on top. “Anything below fifty isn’t good for you.”

“Like I don’t know that!” He grumbles, crossing his arms across his chassis. “I bet your just as bad as me.” It’s a dirty shot, but it gets a smile out of other Ratchet.

“Yeah, I am. But I’m not the one with damaged self repair.”

He’s about to fire off a witty remark when his counterpart sets a glass of energon in front of him. The sight of it stops him in his tracks, because damn... it looks really good.

“Is... is that triple filtered?” He says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. But oh, it’s been so long since he’s had anything better than half-assed slag. He sucks in a deep vent and grabs for the glass, taking a decent sip of it immediately. The moment it hits his glossa he moans internally. It is triple filtered. “Slag that’s good.” He gets out before taking another sip.

His counterpart eyes him and sets his face into a strange look. “Do I even want to know what you’ve been drinking?”

Ratchet pauses long enough to shake his head, taking another long gulp before answering. “Nah, I don’t think you do.”

He finishes the glass quickly, and leans back into the chair once he’s done. “Primus that was good.” The energon tingles pleasantly as it hits his systems, and he sighs and closes his optics for a moment. Maybe it won’t be so bad being stuck here for awhile, it’s certainly better than being on the nemesis, as damaged and dingy as it currently is.

He opens his optics when something thunks down onto the desk in front of him, and he’s surprised to see it’s another full glass of fuel.

“Go ahead,” his counterpart says, watching him intently. “There’s no energon shortage here.”

Ratchet grabs for the glass greedily, though he drinks this one slower, savoring the taste of it on his glossa.

By the time he’s finished his fuel level has risen to over ninety percent, higher than it’s been in years. He ex-vents shakily, and meets his counterparts gaze.

“Thank you.” He says, though the words don’t feel like quite enough. “It’s been awhile.”

Other Ratchet nods solemnly, expression flickering between understanding and something he can’t quite name. “It’s no problem.”

It looks like there’s more he wants to say, but his counterpart stiffens and lets out a sigh.

“I just got a ping form Rodimus,” he says, turning towards the door. “Another one of your teammates has just woken up.”

Ratchet pulls himself up out of the chair reluctantly, inwardly cursing. “We better go see what’s happening.” He says, though he wants to do anything but.

Other Ratchet nods, and they both make for the door. Before they leave however, he turns towards Ratchet, seeming to hesitate. Before he can ask what’s wrong, his counterpart takes a step forward and grabs for him, pulling him into a hug. Warm arms wrap around his shoulders, and a hand comes up to lay against the back of his head. His own hands twitch, before hesitantly settling on his counterparts waist.

They stand there for long moments, venting quietly together, before Other Ratchet pulls back and looks him in the optics.

“I get it.” He says, and turns to stalk through the door.

Ratchet stares after him for a moment, processor blank, but spark warming in his chassis.

_Well then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to update but this chapter realllyyy got away from me. I had to just end it lol. 
> 
> Also I know I said last time that all of the bots would be waking up this chapter but uh... it got to be to much. To many voices and stuff. So they'll all be up and kicking by the next chapter :)  
I really just wanted to focus on the Ratchet's because that's where the fic was pulling me. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!

**Author's Note:**

> Now that the first chapter is over the _real_ fun can begin! I hope you all enjoyed this first installment, please feel free to comment, review, criticize, whatever! 
> 
> Oh, and who else enjoys poor pining Drift and oblivious Ratchet? Because I sure do!


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